NECKLACE (2) — M. KAISER
｡、 . . ⟢ What would you say? How would you react if you had the chance to see your friend Michael Kaiser again, after five years of no contact? Guess there's only one way to find out.
. tw : one mention of suicidal/self-harm tendency, maybe ooc kaiser, cursing
` GN! Reader x M.K. | WC : 3.0K
pt. i , pt. ii (you are here)
The rocks laid on the concrete in the same manner they did five years ago. A park, one that you once cherished so long ago, was now abandoned by all human life. Invasive plants have claimed every area of the playground, and vines latched onto all pieces of infrastructure that was perched above the ground.
You graze your fingers against the small slide, residue from mold along with other unknown bacteria staining your fingertips.
Your feet tread towards the swings; half out of a sense of familiarity and the other out of melancholy. You sat down at your designated swing, the one in the middle that you claimed when you were an adolescent.
You shift your gaze to the right, a swing that once held the presence of a young boy, now empty. The swing that belonged to Michael.
— ⁵ ʸᵉᵃʳˢ ᵃᵍᵒ
“Is this really.. necessary?”
You were sitting in the dirt, one sharpened rock in your hand, engraving your initials on the bottom of the middle swing.
Michael, who was helping you keep the swing up, was trying to be somewhat supportive in your mission to “claim property.”
Engraving two letters into plastic was not all as easy as you’d thought it’d be. Even so, while your hands were getting a little rough, props to the jaggy stone, your initials did start to appear. Your initials did start to appear more in sharp white lines than an actual engraving though.
“This is super necessary,” you grunted, dramatically pausing to wipe sweat off your forehead before continuing, “And you should do it too.”
Michael, who was still fairly weak, shook his head in disagreement. “Why would I need to engrave my initials in my seat?” puzzled Michael as his body weight was threatening to fly back from the sheer pressure you were using to grind the mineral onto plastic.
You let out an all-knowing chuckle, “Because if it has your name on it, that means it's yours!” You roared confidently. Michael hummed softly in return.
Not too long afterward, you gave up on trying to fully embed the equipment, mostly because the carving tool was starting to decay.
Michael quickly offered you his hand, and you dropped the rock into his palm, fully expecting that he was finally convinced to claim his swing. A questioning look plastered his face, “What are you doing?” He asked.
You shot him a confused look as well. “Don't you want to engrave your swing?”
“I thought you were going to put your initials on my skin, since I’m yours.”
Your blood rushed to your face, as you began to stammer, “Michael– what! No! Ohmygosh, no!”
At this point, you assumed you didn't do too well at hiding your obvious (growing) crush for Michael. Good thing for you, he didn't seem to realize. He stayed stationary in the dirt as he watched you freak out at, what he thought, a normal thing to say.
“But we are friends?” He inquired again, examining the dulled out stone in his hand.
“It doesn't work like that!”
It’s been way too long since you came back to this park. After you found out that Michael left, you figured there was no purpose in you returning back here. You feared that by coming back, you would miss his presence. However, seeing his interview changed your perspective.
So, you decided (a week later) that the best decision to rid your emotions was to face the problem head on.
The closest you could get to Michael Kaiser was at this park, hence you figured it’d be the most suitable.
It was still very odd seeing him on national television. A boy who came from absolutely nothing now bombarded with fame and money. A peasant that became a king overnight.
He must've been enjoying his new luxurious life while you were still trapped in Berlin. While he traveled the world, you traveled back and forth from your apartment to your 9 to 5. He had access to fancy, filling cuisine, while you were stuck fending on discounts and instant meals. Michael was living the life that he dreamed of, but he left you behind.
That thought was only passing though. You knew jealousy was a prompt emotion that ran through your veins, and told yourself you weren't all that jealous, only dissatisfied. In truth, you knew he deserved his rewards for his fight between life and death. He worked hard to perfect his kicks, not taking failure as an option. “Yes, he truly did deserve it.” You told yourself as you walked to your guy’s childhood park.
Although, you do just wish you two could've been together.
A faint rustle coming from within the bushes seized your pondering. Your hands hastily cup into fist, cursing yourself for not bringing your bag (which held unused pepper spray) along with you. Earlier that evening, you’d assumed that you’d just be going on a quick walk and back; but, in the end, you stayed longer than you intended.
A thin, stray dog appeared from within the bushes, slowly inching out of the haven of branches and leaves. Its left ear seemed to be missing, most likely due to the demise of encountering a cowardly human or from a permanent scar of nature. Your anxiety was quickly replaced with empathy as you unclench both of your fists, the defensive wall now gone. Your palm steadily raised itself in the direction of the dog. “Hey doggy,” you coo, ushering the animal toward your person.
Sadly, the dog must've been extremely traumatized as it began to growl angrily. Its legs, before unsure, now stood their ground in a protective position. Nevertheless, you were determined to prove yourself as an ally and not an adversary.
You hoist your body off the swing seat, slowly inch yourself closer, and sit down on your feet so that you are now eye level with the dog. The animal began to bark aggressively, but you stayed unmoving.
“I want to be your friend.” You reassure the stray, still awkwardly squatting in front of it. Your bag always had some pet treats stored for occasions like these. You regret even more right now not bringing the essential accessory along with you.
The stray remains tense, barking at you one last time until it decided that you weren't going to move; then, darting back into the bushes.
A defeated sigh escapes your lips, “Maybe if I had some treats.” You sulk, getting back onto your feet.
“It wasn't your fault.”
A voice behind you startled you (almost) out of your stance. Your body jerks back, and you turn your head around to identify the source of the voice.
Someone was now in your swing, dressed in an all black wear. Before you decided to accept your fate of getting murdered, your eyes trailed up his figure until you reached his head. Some of his hair was sticking out of his hood, blonde and blue strands interwoven together.
You paused. All your thoughts and movements, paused.
Michael sat motionless on the swing. His usual confident smirk wasn't present on his face, and his piercing blue eyes focused on only you.
“It's been a while." He greeted, voice low and tired. The boy you once knew, your friend, finally in your presence again.
Without a thought, you lunged towards him, almost slipping in the dirt while your arms flew open. You embraced an old friend, droplets daring to form in the corners of your eyes. He didn't flinch like he did the first time you tried to hug him, instead he embraced you back, both of his strong arms snaking around your waist to pull you in. His body felt warm, the softness of his sweater providing additional comfort. He smelled smoky and expensive, small hints of cologne radiating from his clothes. The greed, the urge to stay engrossed in him like this filled all your senses.
There was so much you wanted, had, to say to him. Yet, all you were able to do was just hold him.
Gathering your thoughts, you let go of his body, breathing slowly as you gazed into his eyes.
“I– How? – I’m.. so confused.” You stuttered, still in disbelief. He let out a slight chuckle, “It’s a long story, sit down and I’ll talk,” and pointed at the swing to his right.
You thought it'd be nice to speak with Michael again after all these years of separation. Before, even the idea of being in his presence again would instantly lighten your mood. But, as you converse with him, you realize that things were bound to have changed.
He spoke as though you were, well, not you. As if you were someone below him: a stranger, a fan, a servant. He discredited you for your status at your new job. “Maybe you should tell them you know Michael Kaiser and you’ll be promoted to the CEO.” He’d comment, “But there’s probably a reason why you’re so low in ranks anyway.” You pushed the comments aside, painfully laughing his remarks off. You didn't want to start an argument over something so negligible, especially since this is your first time seeing him in over five years. But he continued, constantly degrading your ability and skill.
In return, you snapped.
“Why are you acting like this?” You interrupt him before he opens his mouth, again. Your immediate question caught him off-guard, his eyes widening slightly at the bluntness.
You saw his smirk shift into a sarcastic frown, “Like what?” He asks, seemingly oblivious of his attitude.
You rolled your eyes, “Are you serious?” You question, arms folding together in front of you.
He quirked one of his eyebrows, so you carry on. “You’ve been acting like a bitch, Michael.”
His gaze sharpened, “And how in the world am I doing that?” He interferes, his rebuttal only pushing you further.
“You’ve taken a lot of hits to the head haven't you?” The words came out sharp, and before you could regret your words they continued to spew out, “Do you really think you are all that important now?”
So many hurtful questions flew out your mouth: nasty and immature.
His sharp stare turned killer, almost like you’d just expose him for a crime he kept secret for years.
“I do, actually.” He replied, his tone dominant, “And I don't know why you're disrespecting me all of a sudden.”
Your blood began to boil, “Disrespect? Michael, do you even know what disrespect is?” You snapped, now facing him. The swing was swiveled fully so that you were able to see his slouching whole body, irritation painted his on face.
“I’ll give you an example. What's disrespectful is that you’re sitting in my swing.” You childishly pointed out, furrowing your eyebrows to intimidate.
He let out a short, sarcastic laugh. “What a joke! Do you still remember that from years ago?” He replied, voice still steady with a hint of mockery.
At this point, you wanted to slap him across the face. “Why are you even here?” You avoided his question (partially embarrassed) with a one of your own, “Because if it's to make my life more miserable then you can leave.”
Your remark clearly annoyed him, as he immediately stood up, causing the chains of the swing to rattle from the force of his push.
“I came back here, after all these years just to be greeted like this? Like I’m some piece of shit?” He snarked, and before you could respond, he went on. “You remember all of this unnecessary stuff about me like some–”
“You are acting like some piece of shit!” You exclaim, imitating his stance before him. “You're also acting like I'm nobody, like I don't matter. I don't like the way you're talking to me.”
You try to sound as calm as you can, but it comes out no less than a whiny complaint.
“People don't always get what they like.” He snarked, huffing in a breath of air.
“I’ll give you some examples,” he stated, heavily emphasizing the word “I’ll.”
“You think I wanted that asshole as my dad? You think I wanted to steal everyday? Be neglected by everyone? No one cared about me and you think I wanted that?” The irritation in his voice became more evident as his volume raised higher.
Nothing. You gave him silence for ten seconds as you processed the last part of his rant.
No, you couldn't hold it in.
“No one cared? What makes you think that no one cared? How dare you!” You blurted, angry and confused as your brain could barely articulate the right words. “I was friends with a loser like you and you come back and treat me like I’m some– some stranger!”
Your vision began to blur, emotions that were contained for so long beginning to flow out.
“You aren't a king! You're still insecure and you can't accept that you–”
He interrupted, “What would I be insecure abou–”
“Everything! Everything about you screams insecurity! You're still the kid you were five years ago, can you not see that?” You were shouting now. You knew the words that were coming out your mouth had little impact nor did they make any sense, but you couldn't just not say anything.
His returned stillness started to make you regret what you’ve just said. You didn't mean to go that far, calling him a loser and other horrible names.
“Why.. are you even mad at me again?” He gibed, his frame slowly stepping closer and closer to your body.
His stab went through your body, as if he'd just disregarded all of your complaints. You knew exactly why you were mad, you just didn't know how to tell him.
You stayed quiet.
“See, you don't even know. All of this fuss over me, for what?” He spat, voice laced with poison. He, now, stood directly in front of your frame. You had to admit, you were extremely intimidated.
“During all this time you wasted yelling at me, you know what I realized?” He bent down to meet your eyes, waiting for an answer that never came.
“I realized,” his hand grabbed your chin, forcing you to look at him, “– I don't even remember your name.”
He knew it was a lie. A ridiculous lie that he made up because he was angry.
When Michael found out that he wouldn't be going back to his hometown again, he immediately asked Ray Dark, the man that discovered Michael, to find out what your name was. He found out your full name long before you even discovered that he left. Every practice, every match, every game, your necklace dangled his neck.
At night, he would stare at your initials, your name repeating over and over in his mind. He would wish to see you again and again every single time the necklace shimmered in the moonlight.
It was clear that he missed you way more than you missed him. His first real friend.
The first thing he did when he came back to Germany was rent a penthouse in Berlin. Every mealtime, he would walk to the park in hopes of seeing you there. Tonight was finally the night that fate would let you two meet face to face.
But in the end, his ego ruined everything, again.
He watched as your angry face contorted into one of shock and despair. He expected this, for you to be struck as if a part of you just died.
What he didn't expect was for a palm to be slapped across the side of his face.
You want to feel bad about hitting him, given what he's been through, but its seems as though your body reacted on its own.
Your breathing slowed, all of your anger fueled within that single slap was free. You looked down at his body, which slightly trembled from the contact, and his wide eyes as one of his palms cusped the area where he got hit.
“Don't come back here,” You asserted, “I don't want to see you.”
And you left.
Willingly, you left him this time.
He stood by himself, watching as you strided away. You were hurt, a part of you wanted to believe that it was a lie. A part of you wanted to turn back and tell him you didn't mean it. But, you believed it was too late.
He wanted to run after you, and he could’ve, but his body didn't let him move.
He was alone. Tears threatened to brew within his eyes, and his hand came down from his cheek to clutch his throat. He urged to choke himself for his harsh words against you, to punish himself. But he knew you wouldn't like that. Immediate guilt grazed his heart, knowing that he only hurt you more.
He never got to give you your necklace back, and even worse, he never got to admit that he’s fallen for you.
This time, he let his tears slip.
Work was the same, boring as ever.
Currently, it was lunch break, but you still had to finish up an assignment that your boss threw at you last minute. The TV was blaring in the back as one of your older male coworkers watched highlights from one of the most recent U20 soccer games.
“Michael Kaiser, new face of Germany,” he said (to quite literally, nobody).
“Everyone wants to be him or be with him, heh.”
Your eyes stay focused on the computer screen in front of you, watching as the digital words appear as though they were moving on their own.
“Y/N, do ya’ like him? I would assume so because you're a girl and I heard he's quite the womanizer. ” He questioned, turning his attention towards you.
You halted your typing, flickering your eyes at him then to the TV. Kaiser held yet another medal in his hands, his expression radiating confidence.
However, you saw through his disguise.
“You know, he has a necklace with your exact initials on it.” Your coworker hushed, placing his fingers under his chin, focusing on the TV again. “You aware of that?”
Your eyes broke away from the TV and shifted back to your monitor. The unfinished assignment was screaming at you to finish typing.
“No,” Your fingers found their way back onto the keyboard, “No, I don't know him at all.”
(;_;)
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